


like my mirror

by harlequin87



Category: Rugby Union RPF
Genre: Coming Out, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 04:36:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17257679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harlequin87/pseuds/harlequin87
Summary: Owen's coming out has unexpected repercussions.





	like my mirror

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [honey you're familiar](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14089551) by [nymeriahale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymeriahale/pseuds/nymeriahale). 



> Thanks to nymeriahale for both the inspiration and the permission to write this. It is set near the beginning of the seventeenth chapter of their frankly seminal work, during the 2018 South Africa tour.
> 
> Title taken from Hozier's 'From Eden'.

It was two days before the first match against South Africa, and Owen could feel the energy of the squad ramping up, each player buzzing with nerves and excitement. As nominal captain, he knew it was his job to manage their expectations, rein in the energy and keep them from bursting at the seams. In their final contact session before the game, the backs were kicking balls around and laughing as the forwards staggered away from the scrum machine.  
Eddie walked over to Owen and nudged him in the side. “Boys look good right now, hey?”  
Owen nodded, crossing his arms. “Yeah, I’d say so.” Scanning the pitch, his eyes came to rest on a clump of players on the far side. Ben and Danny were mucking around and jumping on each other while Jack and Elliot were playing a light-hearted game that seemed to involve an excess of wrestling. Henry stood off to one side, shoulders hunched and head bowed. If he’d been wearing a jacket, the hood would have been up and his hands would have been shoved in the pockets. “What do you think about Sladey, though? He looks a bit down.”  
Eddie’s brow furrowed. “His play was fine just now. Could you ask him later?”  
“I mean, I suppose – but wouldn’t it be better to see if he wants to talk first? I don’t want to pressurise him.”  
The coach shrugged. “It’s your call, captain. Do what you think is right for him.”

When Owen asked George later in the privacy of their room, his boyfriend agreed. “I’ve noticed it too. It’s not that he’s acting strange all the time, but he seems to withdraw from the rest of the guys in big groups. Something’s probably up.”  
Owen hummed and pulled George in closer to him where they were lying on his bed. “I don’t know what it could be, though. I haven’t heard anything about his family, and the other Exeter lads would be behaving weirdly too if it was about their team.”  
George twisted around to face him. “You know what I reckon it could be?”  
Owen groaned and shook his head. “No, George, he’s not gay, or bi, or anything like that. We’ve talked about this. It’s a professional rugby team: it’s so unlikely there would be three of us.”

George huffed and snuggled back into the other man’s side. “You can’t go from acting normal to all shifty within a week without it being something important.”  
“Yeah, whatever. But I’m not going to rush him into anything. I’ll just project reassuring listening vibes and hope it works.”  
George snickered. “Yes, captain. And if it does turn out that he’s some variant of non-straight, you have to buy me dinner when tour finishes.”  
Owen smacked his shoulder. “Okay, Georgie. You can put your gay agenda away now.”  
I thought you liked my gay agenda, Owen?” George replied, wiggling his eyebrows. “Especially when I’m fu-”  
Owen shoved a hand over his boyfriend’s mouth and glanced around. “Shut up, George! There’s a time and a place.”  
“But we are in bed . . . Isn’t this what you came out for? The ability to sleep with who you want – which includes me?”  
“Yes, but nobody else is getting any on tour! Think of the team!”

The next morning, Owen and George’s satisfied expressions made an even greater contrast with Henry’s moping. He wasn’t going out of his way to be obvious about it, but the England players all knew each other so well that it was inevitable that somebody would notice. Jack slipped into a chair next to Owen during breakfast as the rest of the team bustled around before the captain’s run in the stadium. “Do you have a minute, Faz?” Jack asked, looking around as he spoke.  
“Of course,” Owen said, turning to face Jack and resting a hand on his shoulder.  
“The thing is – I’m worried about Henry. He’s been really quiet this week. We’ve barely spoken outside of drills.” Jack avoided his steady gaze and looked at his hands, twisted in his lap. “Basically, I think it could be something you could help with. Like, you in particular.” He added with a meaningful look.  
“As in . . .” Owen said quietly, raising his eyebrows, “ _the gay stuff?_ ” Jack nodded furtively. “Okay. Thanks for telling me, Jack. I was thinking about talking to him after the match, but I don’t want to force it.”  
The Exeter player grinned, his eyes calmer now. “Awesome, thank you so much. I thought it would be better to come to you than blunder in myself and scare him.”  
“Probably, yeah. Now, we need to be on the bus in ten minutes, so I’m going to pack.”

Owen headed up to his room. George greeted him with a brief kiss, then turned back to his packing. “What did Jack want?” George mumbled through the tape he was holding between his teeth.  
“Eh, he was just saying that he’s worried about Sladey too. And that he thinks I should talk to him because I’m gay and all that, so he might be able to relate to me in that way.”  
George shrugged. “That’s one way of looking at it.” They worked together in peaceful silence, each man running through his game-day rituals with the added comfort of his boyfriend nearby. “You ready now, Owen?” George asked, hugging him from behind. “All prepped for the big day?”  
He smiled. “As much as I can be – unless you want to watch some more tape on the way to the stadium?” George punched him in the arm and they made their way, laughing, downstairs to meet the rest of the team.

The game itself was decent, from a (very optimistic) English perspective. No, they hadn’t won, but the team had put together a relatively solid performance and felt like more of a collective than during the Six Nations. After the other players trickled out to the post-match dinner, Owen and George were left sat by themselves. “You okay, babe?” George asked, voice soft.  
Owen shrugged. “Mostly – I mean, a few unlucky bounces and we could have had the game, so, on balance, I’m proud of the boys. They played well.”  
George prodded him in the side. “Right, thank you, Mr Farrell. Now can I have the real answer, please?”  
Owen tangled their fingers together and tipped his head to rest on George’s with a sigh. “Like I said, it was okay, but it should have been better. I should have been better.”  
“Hey, no. We all could have done more, but we didn’t. That’s in the past now. I’m hungry, you haven’t even got a shirt on yet, and it’s time to move on and go to eat.” Somewhat mollified, Owen pulled on a T-shirt and a hoodie, picked up his bag and followed George out of the door to dinner.

They were barely round the first corner when George startled and Owen bumped into him. “What – oh, Sladey, hey! Are you lost?” Owen slung an arm around his boyfriend and gave a small smile. On closer inspection, he clearly wasn’t. Even in the half-light of the corridor, his red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks betrayed his emotions. “You go on ahead, Georgie, we’ll catch up,” Owen said quietly into George’s ear, pushing him forwards. “See you in a few.” The fly-half walked away unquestioningly. He looked back towards Henry, eyes wide with concern. “Are you okay, Sladey? I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a few days, but this – I’m worried about you.”

Henry sniffed loudly. “Yeah, um – well.” He took a deep breath. “I have something to tell you, and it’s . . . really important, so you can’t tell anyone.” Blinking furiously, he locked eyes with his captain. “Like, I don’t know what I’ll do if you tell anybody. So, please, can you promise me that?”  
Owen bit his lip. “Henry . . . I can’t. If it’s something dangerous, or that could hurt you, then I have to tell the coaches, or at least Jack or another player.”  
He shook his head. “No, no, it’s not like that. It’s just a massive secret and it can’t get out.”  
Owen put a steadying hand on his arm. “Okay, I won’t tell anyone that doesn’t need to know. Fair?” Henry nodded, eyes brimming over again. “I assume you don’t want to talk now then?” Another nod. “Does tomorrow morning work for you? I have a meeting with Eddie after breakfast, but we’re both free around ten. You can come to my room and I’ll kick George out for a bit.”  
Henry nodded and smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Faz. I appreciate it.” On instinct, Owen hugged him tightly.

The next morning, Owen was laid in bed with George’s head on his chest. The South African sun shone weakly into their room around the edges of the curtains, and there was a quiet stillness around them. He stroked his boyfriend’s hair as a warm glow of contentment settled in his chest. Just a few months ago, this had seemed unimaginable. Now here he was, with his boyfriend cuddled into him – on an England tour, no less. It was like the culmination of all his teenage dreams. George shifted in sleep against him and Owen smiled widely.

Then, staring at the ceiling, his mind drifted back to Henry and how the other man was probably feeling at that moment. Given the previous evening, it couldn’t have been an easy night for the Chief. His tears, as well – Owen had only cried around other rugby players (not counting George) once, the day after his uncle had been killed. Henry must be suffering, to break down like that while still in a hostile stadium. Throughout breakfast and Eddie’s meeting, worry for his teammate lingered in his mind. Returning to his room, George kissed him thoroughly by way of reassurance and then left him alone to wait for Henry.

Ten minutes later, there was a hesitant knock at the door. Owen sprang up and opened it. “Hey, Sladey, come in.” His friend looked nervously into the room. “Don’t worry, George went to do some rehab with Ben. He won’t be back for at least an hour.” Henry nodded his head in appreciation and went to sit on the unused bed – George’s bed, Owen corrected himself. It didn’t look like he’d been crying, but his hands were shaking, and he was picking at the duvet intently. Owen wanted to break the silence, but he knew that Henry had to come to him first.

“Okay,” Henry said finally, with a self-deprecating smile, “so you probably want to know what this is about. Just remember – you can’t tell anyone.” Owen started to interrupt, and Henry spoke over him. “Yes, I know, unless it could hurt me, which it shouldn’t . . . I hope.” His voice tailed off to a whisper. Owen sat on the bed and waited patiently, his face carefully blank. “Right, okay, yes. The thing is – um.” His voice cracked, and he covered his face with his hands. “Ugh, this is pathetic.”  
“Hey, no,” Owen said, heart clenching in sympathy. “I mean, if you’re trying to say what I think you just said, then it’s completely understandable. The first time I came out to someone-” Henry inhaled sharply- “I literally wrote them a note and left it on the table for them to find while I wasn’t there. So . . . maybe that would help you?”

The corners of Henry’s mouth quirked up and he unlocked his phone. Owen watched as Henry typed out a few words, waited for a few moments and passed it over. He smiled reassuringly at his friend before looking at what he had written. The words were stark on his phone screen: _I’m bisexual._ Owen’s eyes flicked up to Henry, who was sat on the bed twisting his hands nervously. “Is – is that okay?” Henry said, desperation bleeding into his voice.  
It’s great, Henry, honestly.” He said, voice surprisingly rough. “Thank you for trusting me with this. And I won’t tell anyone.”  
Henry sagged with relief and smiled, his eyes clearer now. “Thanks, Faz.”  
“Hey, uh, actually . . .” Henry tensed again. “Would you mind if I told my boyfriend?”  
Henry’s face showed only confusion. “I mean, it depends. I know he’s another player, but is it really relevant?”  
Owen shrugged. He and George had talked about this moment, and in the context of the conversation this was likely the best place to start. “Yeah, it kind of is. Obviously don’t tell anyone – he’s still closeted – but it’s Fordy.”

Henry sat back, mouth hanging slightly open. “Wow. I did not see that one coming.”  
Owen sent a text to George, reading _Dinner’s on me, and now H knows about us too!_ “Yeah, we’ve been on and off for years, but properly together for a few months now – but I guess you know that already.”  
“I did, but – it’s kind of different knowing that generally and then knowing that it’s you and Fordy.” Henry tilted his head to the side. “How has it been for you then, dating a player? Different teams and all that.”  
“It can be tough, what with the distance and matches, but George makes it all worth it.” Owen didn’t care about the sappy tone creeping into his voice. “Coming out was, or will be, one of the best decisions I’ve ever made, because now I have him, and he has me.”  
Henry smiled back, somewhat longingly. “That’s awesome for you guys. I just – I want something like that for myself, y’know?”

Owen nodded, watching the other man’s expression. “With another player, or . . .” He left the question hanging in the air.  
“In general, yes, but-” He fixed Owen with a steely gaze. “This time, you really can’t tell anyone, hmm?” He waited for the captain’s nod before continuing. “Um, do you know Dave Ewers? He played for the Saxons last year, and he was in camp for a bit in 2016.”  
Owen thought for a second. “I know what he’s like on the pitch, but do you have any photos? I don’t really know his face.” He laughed when Henry grabbed his phone and found a picture in seconds. “So it’s like that, is it?” he teased, snickering when Henry slapped him.  
“Shut up, Faz. Anyway, this was taken after we won the Prem.”

Owen took the phone and studied at the photograph. It showed Henry and Dave in the Chiefs locker room with the trophy, but not in the usual symmetrical pose. Instead, Dave was sat on the bench, dressed in jeans and a shirt – “He didn’t play because he had a broken toe,” Henry supplied – with Henry sat on his lap and cuddled into him. The Premiership Cup was balanced on Henry’s thighs, with one of Dave’s arms wrapped around it and one around his teammate. Both players looked ecstatic: from the adrenaline or the proximity to each other, Owen couldn’t tell.  
“I see what you mean. Do you know if he’s straight or not?”  
Henry shrugged, eyes downcast. “He’s never said anything, but then I haven’t either. I don’t know if it’s worth the risk.”

Owen crossed the room and gave him a warm hug. “Look, you told me and that’s really good. George knows as well now, so we’ve both got your back.” Henry squeezed him in turn. “You don’t need to rush it. Even if he doesn’t like you in that way, you can still be friends.”  
Henry murmured his agreement. “Thanks, Faz, so much. Don’t tell Dylan, but I’m actually glad you’re captain at the moment. I don’t know how he would have handled this conversation.”  
“Eh, it would have been fine. Dylan’s cool with it – his dad mentality forces him to be supportive no matter what!”  
They laughed and Henry stood up. “I should be going now, mate – don’t want to take up all your time. Thanks again, though. It means a lot.”  
Owen followed him to the door. “It’s not a problem. If you need anything – be it about guys or not – you can always talk to me.” They smiled at each other and Henry walked away.

Owen went back into the room and picked up his phone to call his boyfriend. “Hey, G. Yeah, I know, your gaydar is better than mine, whatever. He’s gone now, so if you want to come back the room’s free. Yep, sure. Okay. I love you, bye!” He flopped down on the bed. There was something to be said for the stereotype of the unfeeling rugby player – all this emotional intelligence was exhausting. A thought suddenly occurring to him, he rolled over to where he had dropped his phone and opened a new message to Henry. _I think you should go for it_ , he typed.

Henry’s phone pinged with a text and he opened it. What Owen was suggesting wasn’t completely unreasonable, and in his more hopeful moments he had considered doing just that. But now, having the backing of the England captain and his boyfriend – it all seemed more likely to work out. Gathering his courage, he switched to his conversation with Dave. He let out a breath and slowly, carefully, typed _Hey Davey. I know it’s the middle of the night there, but I wanted to talk to you about something._


End file.
